


Mouse

by charleeluciano



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Assortment of Gallaghers, Fluff, M/M, but also tears, fluff???? Would you call it fluff??
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-17
Updated: 2014-10-18
Packaged: 2018-02-21 12:39:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 3,388
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2468495
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/charleeluciano/pseuds/charleeluciano
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Many instances of how Mickey got his nickname.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prolouge

**Author's Note:**

  * For [CasTheButler](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CasTheButler/gifts), [maryellen590](https://archiveofourown.org/users/maryellen590/gifts), [flazy2](https://archiveofourown.org/users/flazy2/gifts).



He says he hates it but actually he kind of loves it. That... name Ian calls him sometimes. He felt like he needed to clarify that to himself. Sometimes. When he thought about it, maybe that was the reason that he liked it so much. Because it's not very often he hears it.

It had started on a boring Sunday that rivalled any other boring Suday. All the Gallaghers were there, sleepy and doing their usual Sunday thing and it was almost 10 before Mickey and Ian trudged downstairs looking for breakfast.

"Ay! is there any coffee?"

Fiona just moved the pot of coffee toward Mickey and continued making breakfast. At the Gallagher table sat Debbie, Carl and Lip, soon joined by Ian with a plate of toast.

Fiona stayed in the kitchen washing up occasionally taking a bite of her own breakfast. One, two, three, Ian.. Five.

"Isn't there usually one more of you?" Ian looked up, surprised.

Then asked "Where's Liam?"

"Tv. He wanted to watch a show" Fiona told him.

Mickey peered his head around to the living room.

"Has he eaten?" Ian piped up from the table.

"Not yet."

Mickey quietly went about putting another slice of bread in the toaster and buttered it, taking it on a plate to the living room and putting it on Liam's lap then sitting next to him.

The kitchen was silent, no one saying a word. All just trying to catch a glimpse of Mickey Milkovich sitting in peace next to a child out of his own free will. Mickey Milkovich watching cartoons out of his own free will.

Liam squeeled and pointed at the screen shouting

"Mouse!" He wriggled and squirmed and then pointed at the boy next to him. "Like yoouuuu!"

"I ain't a mouse." Mickey told him, staring at the tv, eating his toast.

"Mickey Mouse!" Liam told him.

"Okay, squirt." Mickey said with a tiny grin. In the dining room, Ian smiled.

"So uhh.." Lip began "What the fuck was that?"

Ian just grinned and got up, taking his plate the the sink.


	2. Phone

"Hey Mick, I can't find my phone!"

Ian was half pulling on his jacket, rushing around, previously muttering about how he was late to some Gallagher thing. Something about the little one, Mickey thought.

"Can you call it for me?" Ian asked from a few rooms over.

Mickey stood from the couch and pulled his phone out, going to his contacts and finding Ian Gallagher with the little blue heart thing. Ian had put it in and Mickey couldn't be fucked to get rid of it.

"It's ringing!" Mickey shouted.

After a few seconds he could vaguely hear the vibrations around him.

"Fuck Ian! Why you got it on silent?" He shouted while digging through the couch pillows, gracelessly throwing them here, there and everywhere.

He didn't receive a reply from Ian but when he found the phone down the side of the couch, he picked it up and looked at the caller ID.

Mouse

"I got it,” he said, as it stopped ringing.

Ian bounced out of the hallway, taking it in his back pocket.

"Thanks, Mick." he gave him a peck to the cheek and left with a short "See you tonight."

Needless to say, Mickey stayed up until Ian got home, like he always did for everything. Whether he was at work or at some party or Gallagher thing or whatever.

He heard the door open and click shut, his heart clenching a little remembering the day he had given Ian a house key, not that they usually needed it. There was always someone in the Milkovich house. Ian quietly padded into Mickey's room and sat on the opposite side of the bed Mickey was lying in and began stripping his clothes.

"How was it?"

Ian let out a gasp. "Jesus Mick I thought you were asleep! You scared the shit out of me!" He laughed a little, before continuing, "Yeah, it was good. You still should have come, Liam asked where you were."

Mickey could admit to himself that a smile tugged on his lips at the thought of the little kid asking about him.

"Nah man, I would've brought it down." Mickey defended.

"Lip vomited on the floor, Fiona had a shouting match with Amanda and Carl cut his hand playing with a knife and then decided to drop the blood in the snow. There isn't much you could have done to bring it down, Mick."

Mickey laughed a little and pulled Ian down gently onto the bed, and snuggled up next to him.

"Too late for sex?"Ian asked.

"Sorry Gallagher." Mickey mumbled into his shoulder.

"Sleeping?"

Mickey said nothing for a few seconds.

"Ey, Ian?"

"Mm?" Mickey was glad for Ian's seeming nonchalance that laced Ian's presence.

"What's up with my name in your phone?" He asked.

Ian smirked in the dark. He just tightened his hold around Mickey's waist and pressed a kiss to his bare shoulder.

"Don’t you like it?" Fuck Ian and that knowing voice. He already knows the answer to the question.

“It’s fuckin’ dumb,” Mickey grumbled.

“It’s cuuuute!” Ian protested.

“Whatever, man.” Mickey moaned and turned over, Ian wrapping his arms around Mickey’s waist, cuddling up to him.

“Do you want me to change it?” Ian asked.

“No.” Mickey answered almost a little too quickly. Ian smiled against his neck, kissed it and said

“Okay, Mouse.”


	3. A Visit From The Devil

It was a drizzly grey day in the middle of winter when Mickey planned with Lip and Fiona to take Ian to get his Bi-whatever sorted. He called Fiona before and arranged a time and everything else that Mickey Milkovich swore he would never do.

He arrived at the porch and Debbie opened the door, smiling and asking where Ian was. He smiled softly back at her. Over the last few weeks he had come to like the little girl.

They talked about Monica and how she didn't take her pills; they talked about some of the things that might happen to Ian if they didn't get help. Mickey sat back in his chair for most of it and didn't say much.

It was an even greyer day when Mickey and Ian took the L to a specialist that Mickey had been reading about for a week or so on Mandy's shitty old laptop. He held Ian's hand the whole way there, never telling Ian where they were going for fear of an outbreak like before, when Fiona talked to him and he screamed and threw things and shut himself off.

When they arrived in the building, a small little place with lots of stairs to climb before they even got to the room, he kissed Ian's cheek and told him to go sit down and walked to the reception desk.

"Uh... I've got an appointment with Dr. Marshall-" Mickey told the woman behind the desk. "... For Ian Gallagher" he said softer, as if hoping Ian wouldn't hear across the tiny reception room.

"You're a little early," she told him. "Dr. Marshall should be ready in about 10 minutes."

Mickey nodded at her and went to sit down next to Ian, interlacing their hands again once he did.

"Mick?"

"Hmm?"

"What are we doing here?" Ian asked, looking straight at Mickey, his features betraying his usual confidence and certainty.

Mickey smiled a fake smile and squeezed Ian's hand.

"We're here to see a specialist." He began.

"Why?"

Mickey let out a soft sigh.

"You know your mood swings you been gettin'? It's about that. We just wanna make sure that it's nothin' serious, and if it is, we wanna' help it."

Mickey smiled softly at him.

"Who's we?" Ian asked, looking at the floor.

"Your family. Me. Mandy. All of us." he said, squeezing Ian's hand.

Ian was quiet for a long while.

"You think I'm crazy like Monica don't you?"

Mickey let out another sigh. “No, Ian, I don’t. But I’m worried ‘bout you.”

They fell into silence after that until the doctor came out, picked up a file and called Ian’s name. Mickey looked hesitant but the doctor gave him an expectant glance drenched in “You coming?”

The room was beige and low light, there were shelves and desks and books and drawers cramped in the tiny room, yet it still looked empty. The chairs were too comfortable and the lights were too low.

Dr. Marshall asked a lot of direct questions and kept calling Ian by name, the whole aura wasn’t something that screamed Milkovich; mainly it screamed “get me out of here” to Mickey.

He didn’t say much, wasn’t asked many questions, but whenever Ian looked at him, he gave an encouraging smile and a slight nod. There were tears and frustrations and things came out that Mickey didn’t even know about Ian and he was sure that they both walked out more drained than when they came in, but the votes were in and Ian had Bipolar Disorder, accompanied home with a small plastic tube with a white lid, full of tiny little white balls, and a sticker on the side with his name and the date and the dosage.

They took the train back home. Ian didn’t say anything. They collapsed into bed together while the sun was still up and Mickey stroked Ian’s hair until the redhead fell asleep.

It became dark and Mickey stayed awake, thinking about the day’s events and the events to come in the following days, weeks, months.

"Mouse?" Ian let it slip out, shaky and quiet and broken. He took a sharp breath and Mickey wrapped himself around Ian's body and held him while the tears wracked his body and shook him like nothing else.

"Hey, hey, shhh" Mickey cooed him, holding him tight.

"I'm scared." Ian told him.

"I know, I know Ian, but we'll get through this together. I swear to god we'll get through it together." He said, with such a tender loving voice it was hard to believe that he had the past he had.

Ian was quiet for a long time, clinging onto Mickey for dear life.

"I don't want to be like Monica,” he mumbled.

"Well I ain't gonna be like Frank." Mickey told him, moving his thumb in little circles over the cotton of Ian's worn out shirt.

"I love you" Ian said in the dark.

"Me too, Ian. More than you'll ever know."


	4. After The Storm

They didn't keep dates. Dates weren't important. They never had an anniversary or a day for them. Mainly because they never knew which date was theirs.

Was it when Mickey was woken up by a tire iron to his back?Was it when Ian came back? Was it when Mickey shouted to a whole bar of people that he was gay?

They didn't know which one was their start. But if they did keep dates, it would have been their 4th year since the first time, their 3rd year since Ian left and their 2nd year since Mickey came out.

There had been many, many, (18 not that Mickey counted or anything) depressive episodes and about the same for the manic periods. After they began mixing and matching Ian's medication everything was good for a while. They all helped a little but some were worse than others, ones that worked had side effects but it mainly helped. But for a few days every low, he would still stay in bed, hardly speaking, sleeping a lot.

That being said, he was way fucking better than before, but it still hurt sometimes.

After 2 days of Mickey bringing in food and that green tea that smelt like shit and tasted worse that Ian liked which occasionally he would even sit up to take in his hands.

After 2 days of Mickey trying his best to give Ian space but ultimately just sitting next to Ian, he woke up, saw Ian was still asleep and got up and just walked out to their living room.

Iggy sat at the couch with an xbox controller in hand, watching the telly intently. Mickey quietly padded into the kitchen and flicked the kettle on, getting a small orange box from the cupboard and a cup from the washing up.

"Hey, man" he greeted. Mickey wasn't sure that Iggy had actually seen him.

"'Ey" Mickey mumbled back, walking over to sit on the couch with his brother.

Almost immediately, a young man about their age poked his head through their door, spotted Iggy and fully stepped in the house.

"Dude! What the fuck? We were supposed to meet at Andy's at 7! Everyone wondered if you were even gonna show!"

"Oh fuck!" Iggy exlaimed. "Just get me through that level will you Mick?" Leaving the house with a loud slam of the door.

Well, Mickey could do that. He was focussed on the game to the point that he didn't hear nor see Ian quietly leave their room and walk out to the kitchen, and only realised someone else was there when he heard the kettle flick again.

He spun around, saw Ian leaning against the bench and paused the game.

"Ah shit, Ian. I was gonna make you tea and shit." He exclaimed standing and joining Ian in the kitchen.

"You go sit down, I'll do this."

"It's fine" Ian told him, voice croaky from sleep.

"Nah, man. I got this" he said.

Ian looked down at him but they both knew at that moment, Mickey was the bigger of them. Even standing over the little thug, he seemed to shrink down. His eyes shone with unshed tears and Mickey quickly stepped forward and wrapped his arms tight around Ian.

"Hey, hey, hey" he whispered. "It's okay. You're okay." He held Ian in a warm embrace until he felt like he could let go. Mickey looked straight into Ian's eyes with a sadness that meant _I wish I could fix you._

The same thing Ian saw when he looked into Fiona's eyes.

"Go sit down, Ian. I'll do this stuff" he said gesturing at the cup. Ian nodded, looking down and went to where Mickey was sitting moments ago.

Ian sat and thought. He didn't even realise that he had let weak tears slip out till Mickey was putting two mugs down on the benching and kneeling in front of him.

He held Ian's face between his rough hands then sat up, bringing Ian's face into his jumper, stroking at his hair.

"So the pulsatilla stuff ain't workin' either." Mickey said to no one in particular. Ian was a little surprised that Mickey remembered what it was called at all.

"We'll tell her on Tuesday."

"Why do you care so much? Why remember all this stuff, all the names, everything?" Ian softly asked into his jumper, the cream wool one that was so worn out that Ian knew he only kept because his mum bought it for him out of the blue a few weeks before she died.

"I write it all down." Mickey confessed.

"I know," Ian told him. "You have a shitty memory."

Mickey huffed a half laugh, he pulled Ian's head off his jumper and looked at him.

"Because I fucking care about you, dumbass" he told Ian, soft face, soft voice, soft touches. It was such a contrast to the way Mickey acted to everyone else. He leaned into to Ian's ear and whispered so no one else could hear.

"I love you and I want you to get better." After a few seconds, he added "I don't like seeing you sad." Which in turn caused Ian to leak out a few more tears that dribbled down his cheeks.

Mickey brushed them off and sat himself next to Ian on the couch and forced him to snuggle up under a stray blanket and against Mickey's side, he took the two mugs and handed one to Ian before taking a sip from his own cup.

"Mouse?" Ian mumbled.

"Yeah?"

"Thank you." He pressed a kiss to Ian's head.

"No worries, sweetheart."


	5. Holiday

For the first time in Gallagher family history, they were off overseas.

It sounded way more impressive than it was; they were going to Hawaii.

And it was a rich friend of Fiona’s from a club she used to manage who was getting married.

And the rich friend paid for Fiona's flight and 4 rooms accommodation for a week once they got there.

And Jimmy-Steve paid for Ian and himself.

And Amanda was coming because she was paying for herself and Lip and all their dining expenses.

And kids under 14 flew free, (It was the kind of airline that had a 50/50 chance of actually staying in the air.)

So really they only needed to pay for Mickey’s flight tickets and they were set.

$600.

Easier said than done.

Mickey and Kev did everything in their power at the Alibi to get a little bit more cash, they shifted a shit-tonne of weed that summer, Mickey went out on as many drug runs as he could, despite Ian’s requests not to. Ian put every tip he got towards it. Even Svetlana helped, God knows why.

The 4th of July came and went with surprisingly minimal hangovers in the Gallagher clan, and they were set to fly 2 days later. Unfortunately one of the worst things about the holiday, other than the fact that Mickey would blend into the sand like the fucking Irish girl, and come home looking like a goddamn King Parrot’s belly, was that the flight was at 7am.

Which meant a 4am start.

Mickey set an alarm and woke up to the soft beeping at quarter to four, but Ian Gallagher could sleep through a storm.

“Hey” Mickey nudged Ian awake.

“Hey” he said again, dropping a kiss to Ian’s hair.

Ian let out a long moan/groan/whine.

“Time to get up.” Mickey said, smiling as he got out of bed. Yeah okay, truth be told he was fucking excited.

It was the first time he would ever have gone overseas and there was a good chance it would be the last time.

Might as well enjoy it.

He walked to the bathroom and ran the sink, waiting for the water to become warm and then running his hands under it, then putting them to his face.

He walked back into the bedroom, as happy as a Milkovich could be without actually smiling, Ian was still fast asleep.

"Ian!" He said, nudging him awake.

"Come on! Time to get up!"

Ian groaned out a "Moooouuuse!"

"Come on, get the fuck up." In a small, small part of his brain he started panicking because they'd been through this so many times before.

Once Mickey all but lifted Ian out of bed and helped him put his clothes on, gave him coffee in a travel cup and loaded everything into the cab they had arranged, he started to breathe again, not worrying so much about Ian. They sat in the backseat on the way to the airport, Ian almost asleep on Mickey.

"Ian?"

"Mm?"

"Are you supposed to be low?"

Ian had explained to him that even with the stabilisers and medication they had him on, he still knew if he was supposed to be high or low.

Ian nodded against his lap.

"You gonna be okay?"

He nodded again and Mickey let himself run his fingers through Ian's hair, in that moment not even caring about the cab driver, only focussing on comforting the redhead falling asleep on him.

"You tell me if you're not, okay?"

"'Kay."

Mickey continued stroking his hair all the way to the airport. When they got out, Ian went for the trunk, only to have Mickey tell him that he had it. He had the luggage, He had their passports and take-on bags. He had everything under control.

Once they made it to duty free and found the Gallaghers, Ian spent the rest of the time attached to Mickey, hands together, or wrapped around his side or clinging onto him.

When they sat for the hours on the plane, he was huddled up against Mickey and though it was uncomfortable and there were children screaming and people talking too loud and some guy with a bad cough, neither of them minded.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anyone who doesn't get the "he would blend into the sand like the irish girl" joke: http://memerial.net/5757-irish-girl-sunbathing-the-other-one


End file.
